Cuff Me (21 page)

J
ill knew she was gloating. Big-time.

She
also
knew she didn’t feel even the tiniest bit bad about it. The cork of the cheap champagne finally gave in to all her tugging and twisting and went shooting across the room with a satisfying pop.

She glanced at Vincent, who stood behind the stove stirring some sort of meat sauce that looked amazing. He gave a skeptical look as she poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to him.

“Meat sauce requires red wine.”

“So, when we eat your precious meat sauce, we’ll have a glass of red,” she said, lifting up his hand and then shoving the champagne flute into it. “But first, we toast.”

Jill held up her glass, waiting patiently until he finally rolled his eyes and complied.

“To us,” she said.

His eyes shuttered, and Jill stifled her sigh at how jumpy he was about anything related to them.

“To the best damn homicide detectives in the NYPD,” she clarified, more for his sake than hers.

As expected, the clouds in his brown eyes lifted and he clinked his glass to hers. “That was pretty fucking exceptional today. Even for us.”

“If we can continue to get a confession on the same day that the bodies are found, we’ll restore our reputation in no time,” she said, taking a sip of the wine, loving the way the bubbles matched her mood.

It’s not that she was okay with the fact that they hadn’t found Lenora Birch’s killer. She wasn’t. At all. In fact, she was sure that the lack of closure on the case would continue to haunt both of them for some time.

But that didn’t change the fact that she and Vincent had done damn good work this afternoon.

Granted, it hadn’t exactly been a stumper.

A twenty-one-year-old girl named Maria Salvez, found dead of multiple stab wounds on her blood-soaked mattress…

But wait,
twist
!

Only
half
of the blood was hers.

Quick calls to local hospitals and they’d found themselves victim number two. A twenty-four-year-old male with multiple stab wounds, in serious but stable condition.

It had taken Jill about ten minutes of sweet talk before she found out that the guy had been sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend.

The boyfriend found them in bed and lost his mind, grabbed a knife…

A classic, tragic tale. One that made Jill positively sick to her stomach, and all the more gratified when she and
Vin had found Maria’s killer within two hours of discovering the body. The bastard had been skulking at his sister’s house, drinking a beer and eating a corn dog, looking cocky as hell.

It had taken less than five minutes of Jill and Vincent’s trusty good cop/bad cop routine before the guy confessed.

Open.

Shut.

Awesome
.

“I’d forgotten how good it feels,” Jill mused, taking a sip of her champagne.

“Sure,” Vin said, tasting the sauce on the stove. “Until the damn lawyers strike some sort of bullshit deal and the guy gets off easy.”

“Uh-uh,” Jill said. “Don’t rain on my parade right now. We did good, Vin. It was a win.”

A win they’d sorely needed after the Lenora Birch disaster.

Jill watched as Vincent added salt to the sauce, envying his confidence in the kitchen. She knew her way around the stove, but only with the help of a very, very detailed cookbook. She’d never quite mastered the “pinch of this, a dash of that” approach that the Morettis all seemed so comfortable with.

“You’re staring,” Vin said, not looking up as he tasted the sauce once more.

“Because you look good,” Jill said, taking a sip of her champagne and leaning against the counter.

And he did. He’d been wearing a white button-down but had discarded it almost the minute they’d walked in the door, and he was now dressed only in dark slacks and a white undershirt that did nice things for his amazing arms.

“Keep the compliments coming,” he said, holding a spoon out to her so she could do her own taste test of the goodness he had happening on the stove. “It’ll help keep me from being peeved at you.”

“Why would you be peeved at me?” she said, blowing on the steaming sauce before taking a tentative bite.

“Today when we found Garcia—anything seem wrong with that?”

She replayed it in her mind. They’d shown up… found him plopped on his sister’s couch with that damn corn dog. They’d asked where he was at the time of the murder and gotten a
fuck-off
, followed by
bitch-deserved-it
…

They’d hauled him off the couch, read him his rights as she’d cuffed him—

“
Oh
,” she said, eyes going wide.

Vin lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“Was it your turn?” she asked sweetly.

“That voice doesn’t work on me, sweetheart. Neither do the baby blues.”

She batted her eyelashes. “How about this?”

“Nope,” he said, advancing on her. “It was my turn. Fair and square.”

“Well now, hold on,” she said. “What about the entire three months that I was gone? You got to cuff plenty of people, and I got to cuff none.”

“Doesn’t count. You weren’t there,” he said. “You know the deal. We take turns with the cuffing. And this one was mine.”

Jill pursed her lips. “Are you sure—”

He moved closer, pinning her to the counter with his weight. “Shall I get the log?”

Jill ran a finger along the V-neck of his shirt. “Maybe
we retire the old take-turns-cuffing thing. I mean, it’s a little childish—”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s the best part of our job, and you know it.”

Jill took a sip of her champagne. He was right. It was the best part of their job. There was something so satisfying about the click of the cuffs when you knew you had the right guy.

“What if I told you I forgot?” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s been a while, after all. I’ve been on sabbatical.”

“I’d believe you, baby,” he said. His voice was calm. Lulling. Dangerous.

“You would?”

“Mmm hmm.” He moved even closer, slowly pulling the champagne flute out of her hand and setting it aside behind her. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you were out of turn, Henley.”

Jill was finding it harder and harder to concentrate with his warmth pressed against her, his big arms caging her in, his mouth so damn close—

So addled was her brain with lust that even when his hands found her hips, turning her around to face the counter with the perfect amount of roughness and gentleness, she didn’t realize his intention.

So full of want was every cell in her body as he gently raked his teeth over her neck, that she didn’t quite comprehend that he’d maneuvered her hands behind her back.

Not until the unfamiliar feel of cold metal against her wrists, followed by the very familiar sound of a soft click, did Jill realize what had just happened…

Her partner had just cuffed her.

She tried to whirl around, but he caught her waist with a gentle scolding noise, then pressed against her, molding his chest to her back.

“Vin—”

His hands ran up her sides, then back down until they rested on her hips.

“Yes, detective?” he said roughly against her ear.

She twisted her wrists futilely. “Let me go.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think about the consequences of your actions,” he said, sliding a hand around to press a hand against her stomach and pulling her more firmly against him.

“My actions—
ahh
.” She broke off when he started kissing her neck.

“What was that?” he asked, his lips never breaking contact with her skin.

She tried once more to turn, but his grip tightened.

“Don’t. Move,” he growled.

Jill tried not to move. She did. But when his hands ran up over the front of her breasts, palms teasing her, she arched, wanting more.

His fingers slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, his mouth never stopping its hot teasing of her neck.

Vin flicked open the front clasp of her bra, shoving both that and her shirt roughly to the sides before putting his hands on her.

Jill’s own hands jerked against the handcuffs as his fingers found her nipples, tweaking her in just the right way to find that exquisite place between pain and pleasure.

By the time his hands moved down to her skirt, his fingers pulling the fabric upward, inch by slow inch, Jill was panting.

“If I say sorry, do I get these off now?” she asked.

In response, he placed a hand on her back, pushing her gently but firmly forward so she was bent over the counter.

He slid down the back of her body until he was crouched behind her, roughly pushing her skirt the rest of the way up over her hips.

Jill squeezed her eyes shut, torn between embarrassment and arousal. Then arousal won over, because his fingers hooked into her panties, yanking them down so she was completely exposed.

“Shall I read you your rights, Henley?” His breath was hot on her skin, his fingers dragging slowly along her inner thighs.

“Wha—what?” She was definitely panting now.

He pushed her thighs wider apart. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Vincent slid his hand upward, one finger sliding slightly into her.

Jill moaned.

“Apparently you’re forgoing that right,” he said, his teeth nipping at her left butt cheek as his fingers continued to play with her.

“Vin, you—”

“Careful, baby. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

He eased his finger all the way inside her then, his other hand sliding around to her front to rub her in slow, torturous circles.

“You’re a bastard,” she said, pressing her cheek against the cool surface of the counter, even as the place between her legs grew wetter, hotter.

“Yeah? Tell it to your attorney. Because you have a right to talk to a lawyer—” He broke off at Jill’s cry of pleasure as he slid another finger inside her.

Vincent was still in control, but he was unraveling fast. She could hear it in his breath. Feel it in the way his hands were shifting from teasing to greedy.

She parted her legs as far as she could with her panties still around her ankles, silently encouraging him to continue his wicked touch.

His forefinger centered on her core, rubbing in tight, perfect circles, and Jill’s entire body tensed—begging for release.

Release he didn’t give her.

He withdrew his hands, standing behind her. Jill heard the clank of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper.

Felt the brush of his fingers against her as he positioned his cock at her opening. But not entering.

She pushed her hips back, and he pulled away slightly. “Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing the sensitive finger just above where the handcuffs held her hostage.

Jill refused to answer. He already had her handcuffed and bent over her kitchen counter. Damned if she’d give him everything.

She looked over her shoulder, lifted her eyebrows in challenge as she remained stubbornly silent.

His eyes narrowed, and his hand slid down to her butt, slapping it just hard enough to cause a delicious little sting. “Jill.”

She pushed her ass toward him in response, arching her back, and relished his little groan.

“Sorry, babe. Not good enough,” he said, planting a kiss between her shoulder blades.

Then he spun her around, dropped to his knees, and tongued her.

Jill gave a sharp cry, pulling at the handcuffs in a desperate, futile attempt to hold his head against her. But she didn’t need to. His hands found her hips, holding her still as his mouth devoured her in a hungry caress.

Only when Jill sobbed his name did he stand, nipping her nipple once before spinning her around once more and plunging into her with one firm smooth stroke.

He paused then, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged. He kissed her once on the top of her shoulder. It was a sweet gesture completely at odds with the fierceness of the rest of their encounter, and she turned her head, her lips finding his. Their tongues tangled in a hot kiss until he finally pulled away, his eyes latching onto hers. When she turned around he pulled back before pushing into her, slowly.

This time when Jill leaned forward, it was of her own volition, and Vincent groaned in gratification. His fingers dug into her hips as he took her hard.

There was nothing soft about the way he drilled her into the counter. Nothing tender about the sounds their bodies made as they slapped together. Nothing delicate about the way she came apart the second he slid a hand around to her clit.

But when Vincent found his own release, the way her name sounded on his lips sounded like a prayer.

And that was
everything
.

V
incent wasn’t prone to embarrassment. He didn’t think he was hardwired for it.

But when his vision stopped spinning enough to pull himself away from Jill and unlock the handcuffs, he was damn glad her back was still to him, because he felt oddly shy at the way he’d taken her like an animal.

Shyness transitioned to regret as he saw the faint red lines around her wrist. “Ah, Jill—”

She turned toward him, kneeling to pull her panties up before wiggling her skirt back down and giving him a coy look.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, lifting to her toes and pressing her lips to his. “Don’t you apologize.”

“But—”

Her arms wound around his neck and she deepened the kiss.

Vincent kissed her back, mainly because it was a chance to hold her.

When they pulled back, he surprised himself by kissing both her cheeks, then set to righting her bra, rebuttoning her shirt.

When he glanced up, she was watching him with such amused surprise that the embarrassment crashed over him again.

What was wrong with him? It was just sex. It was just—

Except it wasn’t
just
anything.

Sex with Jill wasn’t just mind blowing. It wasn’t just an intoxicating combination of raunchy and playful.

Sex with Jill felt a hell of a lot like coming home.

And even more scary, it felt a lot like
it’ll never be this good with anyone else, ever
.

Fuck.

He moved toward his sauce, unsurprised to see that the bottom had burned a little thanks to their interlude.

He scraped at it with the wooden spoon, then picked up the champagne he didn’t really like and tossed back the entirety.

“You okay?” she asked.

He glanced at her, saw the wariness on her face—realized that she wasn’t just expecting him to pull away. She was counting on it.

But for tonight, he didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to be the guy that clammed up and was emotionally unreachable.

He was that guy—he knew that. Knew that he didn’t have whatever other people had that made them good for another person forever and ever. There was no way he’d
subject Jill to a lifetime of his frequent need for solitude, or his inability to make the proper chatter at social functions.

Even if he remembered to occasionally bring her flowers, he didn’t know how to put together all the pretty phrases that women seemed to want.

But maybe for tonight, he could pretend that he was her man. That she was his.

He reached out and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her toward him for a quick kiss, his hand sliding over her back and down to her ass, which he gave a playful tap. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dirty girl?”

She let out a little laugh. “I’m the dirty one? Didn’t seem to me I had a lot of say considering I was handcuffed and bent over the counter.”

His cock stirred at the memory, as well as the steamy look in her eyes. She could say whatever she wanted, but she’d fucking enjoyed every moment of it.

So had he.

He bent his head again, and she laughed lightly, dodging his kiss. “No way, Detective. I know that look. You’re feeding me first.”

“
Then
we can do a repeat?” he asked, opening the box of pasta and dropping a handful into the water he’d had boiling on a back burner.

Jill pulled down plates and water glasses. “I’m thinking repeat, with a twist.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Twist?”

She nipped his shoulder with her teeth as she passed. “Yup. Say, maybe… I’m the one with the handcuffs.”

He turned to look at her. “Jillian Henley.”

She shrugged as she set the table. “What? Now that
I’ve seen what’s beneath the clothes, I wouldn’t mind having all that solid muscle pinned down for my personal pleasure.”

To Vin’s surprise, the idea was arousing. He was game for just about anything that would involve her putting her hands on him. All over him.

Vincent served them both a hefty portion of the pasta, and Jill kept her promise of red wine with dinner, pouring him a glass and topping off champagne for herself.

As they settled down to eat, Jill’s usual happy chatter mingling in with companionable silence, Vincent was struck with an unfamiliar sense of contentment.

No… that wasn’t quite right.

He’d been
content
before Jill had left for Florida. Back before she’d rocked the boat. What he was feeling now was much bigger.

He shoveled the last bite of pasta in his mouth and sat back to find her watching him. “What’s up?”

She pressed her lips together briefly in the way she always did right before she said something he wasn’t going to like, and he instinctively braced himself.

“Do you want to stay?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “I thought we cleared that up right about the time I agreed to let you handcuff me.”

“No, I mean—well yes, I want that. But I mean, do you want to stay and… hang out? Watch a movie? Or TV? Or we could read—”

Her words came out in a rush, and he frowned. “What’s got you so nervous?”

She fiddled with her napkin. “It’s just… have you noticed that we’re usually either talking about work, or having sex?”

“Sure,” he said. “But those are two of my favorite things. And yours too, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I know. And you’re right; I love those things too. And I’m not suggesting less, of either, it’s just—”

She blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I want to try normal with you, Vin.”

He swallowed. As far as requests from a woman went, it was about as innocuous as it got. She wasn’t looking for a ring, or to take him to meet her mother, or to go shopping for drapes.

She wanted to watch a movie with him.

Hell, it’s not like they hadn’t done it before. There’d been plenty of times where they’d defaulted to watching a movie when their brains were spent after working on a case.

But this was different, and they both knew it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Jill that he didn’t do normal. He didn’t do boyfriend.

But then the thought hit him…

Why?

Why didn’t he do normal?

Why
didn’t he do boyfriend?

He’d never even tried.

And if he was going to try with anyone, it would be Jill.

She was worth at least that. She deserved so much more than
normal
.

“You’re freaking out,” she said on a sigh, pushing her plate away. “I just wish I knew why—”

He reached across the table and grabbed her hand before he could lose his nerve. He kept his touch gentle, his thumb gently rubbing against her palm until she calmed and looked at him.

“I’d like to stay,” he said quietly. “And as for normal… I can give you normal for
me
…”

She smiled. “That’s all I want. You don’t have to pretend with me. You know that, right? I know who you are. What you are. Warts and all. And that’s who I want to stay and watch a movie with me.”

Vincent felt his chest tighten a little. He wanted to take the words and cling to them. Wanted to ask if they’d still be true a week from now when he was in one of those rotten moods where he wanted to be left alone and snapped at her.

He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t even close.

But the way she was looking at him now… as though he were everything she’d ever wanted—

He couldn’t give it up. Not yet.

Vincent turned her hand over and lifted it to his lips.

“I’ll stay on one condition,” he said, running a thumb over her knuckles and holding her eyes. “You got any popcorn?”